Though our harvest had not been very plentiful, we were unwilling to let Thanksgiving pass unnoticed. Number Four took dinner with us, and we did our best, as usual on such occasions, to provoke appetite to the utmost and yet give it an overwhelming defeat. Our first course consisted of roast beef nicely baked under a cheese box, potatoes, onions, and apple-sauce ad libitum. This was succeeded by a regular oldfashioned Christmas pudding, the crowning glory of the occasion, wanting nothing but eggs and milk, flanked on either side by a molasses pie, and a dish of tarts well stuffed with delectable currant jelly, and bravely supported by a dessert of raisins and English walnuts.
The pies would hardly have passed muster with Aunt Chloe; "they were pies sartin, but then what kind o' crust?" but perhaps that renowned "perfectioner" would have experienced some difficulty in making her "rale flecky paste" if she had had to roll it out with a bottle on the under side of a three-legged stool.
Christmas, Number Four returned the compliment and invited us to take supper at his tent, when China furnished her choicest teas and chouchou or preserves of infinite variety. We had promised ourselves the agreeable addition of Dr. Browne to our little circle, but he did not make his appearance till the next afternoon. A dam at Ford's Bar, in which he had invested all his earnings, had proved a failure, owing to nearly the same causes that had disappointed our own expectations; he had abandoned mining and was now on his way to the Sandwich Islands. In spite of his reverses he was still full of ardour as ever, and urged us strongly not to leave that part of the world at present. It was impossible not to be somewhat infected by his enthusiasm, and we found in our own dreams an additional reason for resting in the same conclusion. Whenever we dreamed of being at home, which we did repeatedly, our regret and vexation were so extreme that the remembrance of what we had suffered on waking was sufficient to quiet our homesick impatience for weeks.
The last of January, our old claim no longer yielding over four dollars a day, we moved a quarter of a mile up the river to a bar not far above the American Dam. The next day Number Four came up to bring us some letters, accompanied by two of his fine city or village acquaintance.
Dr. Ripsome was a notable instance of what may be accomplished by care and industry even under the most unfavourable circumstances. It would be difficult to find even in our most fashionable cities a more nicely dressed gentleman. His elegance was a perpetual wonder, a continued miracle. His ruffled shirt-bosom was without a spot, and his collar seemed made of enamelled tin, so boldly did it rise on either side of his carefully trimmed jet whiskers. Not a speck could be detected on his immaculate trowsers, nor on those boots that looked as if they belonged to a blacking bottle; indeed, dust and he seemed to have no affinity, but to be rather in a constant state of repulsion. He carefully dusted a smooth stone with his cambric handkerchief and sat down while we read our letters.
They contained various interesting items, all suggestive of the length of our absence from home. S. had got married—Tom had got whiskers and was become a great ladies' man—and little St. Johnny had begun to talk and was stoutly demanding when his California uncles would get home. Ah lo que es el mundo! why couldn't they have waited a little longer?—by the time we do get home, everything will be over, and nothing left to happen. This is the worst part of going away from home,—if one could only seal up what he left behind him with a certainty of finding everything undisturbed on his return, or if, like the sun in Ajalon or a clock whose pendulum has ceased its vibrations, home would stand still waiting his touch to set it again in motion, a long journey would no longer be such an ugly gap in existence, but like a break in an electric current, throw its light over our whole path.
[CHAPTER XX.]
The first of February we again changed the scene of our labours, and commenced working on American Bar within a few rods of our dam. This bar had been originally extremely rich, but having been already dug over by three or four successive parties, nothing now remained but the bare granite and numerous piles of paving-stones with a little sand sifted among them. Nevertheless, we worked here for three weeks, and in that time took out about three hundred dollars; almost all of which we found embedded from one to six inches in the soft granite. Here follow a few extracts from my most meagre journal.